


Burial

by MacKyleMore



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Angst no happy end, Death, I don't think it deserves the term 'graphic' but idk so., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacKyleMore/pseuds/MacKyleMore
Summary: Wrote this like a week ago wasn't gonna post because I'm not happy with my inability to express what I wanted and none of it makes sense but I'm feeling very sad tonight so here we are
Relationships: Forde/Kyle
Kudos: 3





	Burial

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this like a week ago wasn't gonna post because I'm not happy with my inability to express what I wanted and none of it makes sense but I'm feeling very sad tonight so here we are

The sour stench of iron was one he had grown used to; it meant his weapons would be reinbelished with new-found security.

Repairing one's lance or sword meant heated coals and sweat and burning metal. A trip to an old blacksmith's meant he would return to the rest of the day with the smell intoxicating his chest; a perfume only drowned out by hours of sleep and a brisk dawn.

And this is nothing the same. There is no trading of services and coin. But the smell is akin to those experiences.

Metal clashing with metal, sparks flying. The same heat used to sharpen arms swarms its way through Kyle's arms as adrenaline over-takes his body.

He wants to focus on the smell of sweat dampening his hair or the dry linen he just split a tear in on an unfortunate bandit's chest-- but the only thing he can focus on is the smell of blood.

He should be used to it, his own or his enemies. But if it's spilling from one of his comrades? Well, that's a different story.

He stumbles, one last feeble attempt to confirm that he's dealt with all the bastards who consider it okay to steal from the poor. After he realizes that they are all now disfigured on the ground, he follows the smell, to the one body that means anything to him across the sea of crooks and criminals.

Forde is laying on his side- the side of his stomach that gained a deep gash so that Kyle couldn't see against the cold earth. He's doing this to make it look like less a deal than it is, Kyle is sure. And he'd probably fall for it too, considering how the crimson painting his tunic isn't much different a shade than the fabric itself; if the hand holding the wound wasn't so fair and pale in comparison to its deep hue.

"Don't lay on the side you were hit." He says it coldly, kneeling to get a better look at the damage the people who were supposed to be easy to deal with have dealt. At this point, he doesn't realize just how deep a cut is carved into Forde's abdomen.

Reaching out to turn him over when Forde doesn't listen (He never does, the idiot.), he winces under his touch. It was such a soft gesture too, one that someone who wasn't seriously injured should retract from.

There is seriously something wrong here, Kyle realizes for a moment. But he doesn't want to believe it, so instead of pondering on that thought for too long, he acts like nothing has happened. If he ignores the truth, maybe the truth will ignore him in return.

"I let my gaurd down..." Forde's words are hard to hear and his voice is hoarse, certainly not how he usually presents himself. Let alone admitting defeat in front of Kyle, nonetheless.

"You're fine." And Kyle still believes this, although it is admittedly dwindling like a candle in a storm. 

He believes that Forde is fine. He always has been, and always will. 

Kyle goes to take Forde's arm from the place it shields, and can tell that Forde is trying so damn hard to not let him move it. So why does he allow him to do so in the end?

Because he has no strength left to even push the other away. Again, Kyle knows, but he won't accept it yet.

Once his hand is removed, his arm falls limp to his side. No further attempt is made in hiding that pain or sight. Kyle sees how his bangs are sticking to his sweat-soaked temples. Forde should at least brush them from his eyes, but it doesn't seem to be bothering him. Forde isn't moving.

The palm at his side is now red, with no sign of even any flesh colored underneath. It is an awful amount of blood- blood that is no longer coursing through Forde's veins.

"You're fine." He repeats the words, but not because he thinks them true. This time he says them because he is now holding onto a hope he knows to be false.

This task was supposed to be easy. Rid the nearby village of a handful of bandits. Nothing more. Forde and himself have always worked well together, and for so long. Without realizing, they had built up the trust of those they served, but maybe that trust was too blind.

He finds himself trying to find someone to point a finger at, blaming anyone who might be at fault. 

His head first goes to the theives, killing and stealing not only for the need but also for their twisted idea of fun. It was dirty of them to hide in the shadows and jump on them like they did.

And maybe he thinks for a moment that no, it wasn't their fault. It was this accursed assignment, and the likes of who put this job on them. Alone, with no one else to watch their backs which obviously weren't as capable as everyone had thought.

But the last thing he decides is that it's his fault. It wasn't only his life he had to watch out for, but Forde's as well. And he has failed.

He shakes his head slightly. No. It's no one's fault, because Forde is fine. 

But he can't believe that anymore, now that he sees just how scarred he has become.

So he pries his eyes from the wound, back up to Forde's face. He thinks for a moment to brush his hair back, because Gods know Forde won't do it himself and Kyle is sure it is uncomftorable, but he is afraid if he makes anymore contact Forde will die then and there, all because of his own carelessness.

Forde is smiling, so faintly that Kyle knows if he hadn't seen the same one so many times before, it probably would have gone unnoticed.

//

_Night has fallen, but this time of year it always has been hard to fall asleep so early in the eve regardless of dusk surrounding the camp._

_The sound of crickets outside and occasional cry from an owl doesn't do much to drown out the rustling of Forde constantly rolling over from one side to the other._

_It is getting on Kyle's nerves, so he turns himself over to properly face the man who keeps him up all night. "_ Could you lay still? _" He asks, but the words lose their meaning by the end, because by that point he sees, in the faint firelight coming from outside their tent, the cast of melancholy on Forde's face._

_An arm props his head up as he lays on his back, looking at any fibre in canvas that looks exactly like the next. He is clearly thinking too much, like he does so often._

_It isn't hard for Kyle to pretend to have not noticed-- Forde only opens up if he pries. But he can't sleep himself anyways, so he decides asking just for any small thing occupying his train of thought._

_"_ Why aren't you even trying to sleep? _" He finds himself beating around the bush, because despite the years they've known each other Kyle still has a hard time keeping composed around Forde. (Or maybe it was because of those years.)_

_Forde's eyes are wide open, and a faint smile dresses his features._

_"_ Nobody really knows what took my mother. _"_

_It is not something people say with a smile on their face-- but Kyle knows Forde enough to know that he is trying to cover up just how much it still gets to him._

_When Kyle can't find anything to respond with, Forde finishes his thoughts. "_ I wonder sometimes...if I could die the same way."

_Kyle would be a liar if he said he hasn't thought the same thing himself. Illness runs in blood. But Forde always seemed to be in good health, so it was always nothing more than a disturbing idea._

_"_ Don't...talk like that. _" He doesn't know what else to say._

_At this, Forde is snapped from the spot he was staring down so fiercely on the tent's roof, and turns to face him._

_"_ Why? _" The smile he put on for show falters into a look of shock. "_ Because you would miss me? _" Finally, it turns into a real grin with real meaning._

_At this, Kyle frowns to hide the heat in his face, turning his back to Forde once more._

//

_"...You're dying."_ It's a whisper so silent he's surprised Forde can even understand with his dulling senses.

That's the last thing he wants to say, the last couple of words that you _should_ say.

No _comfort_ is in them. 

Yet he watches the expression of fake serenity melt into shock-- his eyes, if not already void of light by now, manage to widen ever so slightly at what Kyle has told him.

Of course Forde knew that already, but to hear Kyle say it was as if he had gotten hit with a brick.

It doesn't last, and eventually he is smiling again. And, like before, he means it. 

Kyle can't figure out why. What is there to smile about? They are surrounded in death, and soon Forde would join those already departed.

"What? Why are you-" Kyle's choking on his voice by now, unable to cry but unable to talk sense either.

This is the same. He feels heat rise in his face again, but this time out of anger.

He wonders why Forde even had that idea in his head back then, the idea of dying. People contemplate death in the face of death itself, usually over fear of what it brings. But Kyle is smart enough to know that nothing was after him that night, and he is almost positive that death isn't a name Forde would shy away from if it knocked on his door.

Kyle brings his head in his hands, clawing at his face. He is trying so hard to figure out the real reason Forde is always walking on a thin rope that no one else is allowed onto. They are allowed to watch, but if he falls no one is permitted to catch him.

"What's wrong with you..." He directs it towards Forde but is talking to himself.

Something like a laugh comes from the dying man layed in front of him, but it takes form of a coughing fit, blood finding a new way to manifest on his skin.

"No!" Up until now he made a move not to touch Forde, but he's growing more irrational by the second. "Don't laugh. Don't move. _Don't-"_

He reaches beneath Forde's shoulder to try and pick him up. He can, but not without struggle. The body that once never missed an oppurtunity to wrap an arm around Kyle's shoulder or nudge him in the ribs to tease him, is heavy and immobile.

"You said it.... said it yourself. I'm gonna die."

"I was just messing with you." He shoves his face into Forde's neck without thought, this way he can't see the tears that are finally forming.

A hand, weak and shaking, is felt on the back of his head. It's warm and wet. "I didn't think I'd go like this. I should have listened to you when you always told me to be more serious."

Forde's words are so slurred and slow.

He's scared though, _he has to be_. Of course. Mortals, no matter how strong, will cower at their life.

Kyle thought too highly because he is selfish. 

Forde is _terrified_ of dying.

But Kyle is even _more_ terrified.

"And I'm telling you right now. You're not..."

But he can't finish the thought. 

"I'm so tired, Kyle. Just this once... let me go to sleep."

  
The hand that leaves blood in his hair falls, the warmth turning to cold as quickly as it started.

Breath hitching in his throat- a thought crosses his mind: Forde had to have been hit quite some time ago, and directly on target for this to take him. So why hadn't he said anything?

There is no sign of life left, and he doesn't dare remove himself. If he takes in the vision of Forde- cold and gone- he is scared he will have to face the truth.

Sobs start to echo through the air, and at first he doesn't even know where they are coming from. It's a gut-wrenching sound. Despair and torment must have found its way into the person who is making such cries.

It doesn't sound like something he is capable of making, but soon he realizes he is the one putting on such a show. 

Minutes go by, ones where he is waiting for a quip at his strong display of emotion. Any sign that he, like Forde, has always been human. He laughs, he feels joy and pain, and mostly he cries.

When he doesn't even see an apparition in his head or hear a voice talking to him in the wind to tell him this, to laugh at him and remind him that he loves just as strongly as those around him, no snorts of _I can't believe I'm lucky enough to know how much of a softy you really are_ , The choking in his throat finally stops.

Pulling himself off from what was once Forde, he doesn't look away like he had initially planned. 

But, at the very least, Forde at least looks peaceful, and almost content.

What could have he been thinking about before he breathed his last? Kyle feels guilty for being here, alone with no one else to ease the pain Forde must have experienced. And yet there is no sign that he had any regrets.

He thought he knew Forde, but he doesn't know anything. 

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Why didn't I say something...."

_Why didn't I notice sooner?_

If he had, they could have done something about this.

He might have to suffer for awhile, but he would get the treatment he needs

_I'm still talking in the present tense..._

There is nothing left to treat. 

A bitter cackle comes from his mouth. 

He could die. He wants to. 

Returning and telling everyone that he personally let Forde slip from his grasp is shameful, dishounorable, and all around worthy of his own life being taken.

He is surrounded by death. What's one more loss? No one would need to know, if he did it properly. He could play it off to appear that someone got away, and took his and Forde's life with it.

The thought plays in the air like a plume of smoke, but the resolve is blown out swiftly. He wants to die. But he doesn't deserve such an easy way out.

He won't die, not yet, and until the day that he does this is something he will have to live with. A final tear is bitten back, and he buries the feelings of fondness (of rivalry, frienship, agitation, of _love_ ) he has developed for Forde over their history, just like the lifeless figure that he can no longer call his best friend will be buried beneath the same earth that has taken him.

He buries it deep, so deep that it will never be dug up until he himself finds his way layed to rest.


End file.
